Gingerbread Men and Haunted Basements
by phlesh
Summary: Beca has never loved Christmas. It becomes even more difficult when she has to start confronting her fears, however. Just some Christmas angst and fluff, most likely just a one-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**I know, I know, I'm awful. I have two other stories on the go and I still choose to do this to myself. This could just be a one-shot, but if the response is good I may continue/ go back and specify! So, if you're interested, read, review, fav! much love.**

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Christmas had been a variety of different kinds of disasters, for as long as Beca Mitchell could remember. When she was young, Christmas was wrapped in glowing lights and cartoon specials on the TV, but perhaps, most serenely, a blissful ignorance to the chaos unfolding around her. It had started in the lead-up to those turkey dinners where the family gathered; her parents arguing behind firmly shut doors while a miniscule version of herself bundled up in front of the Grinch and tried not to listen to the specifics. Couldn't comprehend that every quarrel only unravelled the tattering frays of their marriage even more. That every crowded, awkward family get together around a heaping pile of food- every feud between uncles and fathers, aunts and fathers, grandparents and mothers and fathers- every askance look cast at one another- built up tensions- and it wasn't until Beca reached the age of around nine years old before the heaviness of the setting dawned on her. No longer was it just an inconvenience to spoil the Christmas spirit- but as she aged it seemed to become less and less bearable- until she began to dread the season.

Those days ended, however. But that didn't mean it got any better.

She was thirteen when she experienced the first Christmas without her father. She supposed all of those years of disagreements around the season had proved too much for him to sit by for another. He left in the October of that year. Like a ghost, vanished, seemingly without a trace, in the night. The halls became sickeningly saturated with silence, and Beca's mother feebly tried to explain it away to her- but whatever. Beca _knew._ She knew what it meant.

That first Christmas was saturated in a different kind of silence. The kind that ebbed sympathy and pity as aunts and uncles and grandparents peeked at the two women out of the corner of their eyes around the table, an uncharacteristic quiet a whole new level of discomfort compared to what she was used to. On Christmas morning she had received a few extra presents from the extended family. Little, extra things, as if there was an unspoken agreement between them all that they'd try to compensate.  
Beca and her mother had sat on separate ends of the couch- the spot between them vastly empty and untouched, in such a sacred way that the absence almost felt as though it was a palpable creature. Her mother began to cry towards the end, by herself, silent. Beca pretended she didn't notice- partly because she didn't want to, she wished she hadn't- and partly because, as always, she wasn't sure how to respond. There was no solace she could provide.

He was gone.

There would be no Christmas miracle of his return.

His gifts for her arrived in the mail almost two weeks later. They remained un-opened for another two weeks after that.

That was how three consecutive Christmas' were spent. After the first, however, she'd gotten a phone call from the man on the Eve. It was one of the few they received in a year; following her birthday and a stray call or two out of the blue. Each one lasted a maximum four minutes.

When she was sixteen, she spent her first (and only) Christmas without either parent. Her mother had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer in the spring of the second year without him, and she'd died in the October after her sixteenth birthday. It had made her particularly hostile towards the month, as though it had some kind of personal vendetta against her.  
And so, that Christmas, the family dinner had been relocated to her grandparents' house, where she had been staying since her mother's passing. It just sort of depressed her more, however, because they were both in their eighties and their youngest daughter's death did nothing to help their health. So, that holiday had laid a particularly heavy, persistent hand on her, no matter how many twinkling lights and nutcrackers were present. Afterwards, she'd decided to move in with her aunt, unable to endure longer than absolutely necessary in the crammed spare bedroom of her grandparents' home, where ailment seemed to hover in the air like a dark cloud.

Her next Christmas, however, was perhaps the strangest. In the spring of that following year, somehow, at some point- perhaps through legal documents, Beca wasn't sure- because she'd never cared enough to ask, she was too busy brooding- her father had come slinking back from the shadows like some kind of disgusting, withered creature with an outstretched hand, expressing his deepest sorrows and regrets. He wanted his only child back. It just took his ex-wife's untimely death for him to realize that.

And, for some reason, Beca had agreed. Maybe it was out of spite. Maybe it was because she felt more like a burden to be inhabiting aunt Joan's home than she ought to. She was never sure. Still isn't.

So, she went with him. And it gave her a malicious sense of self-satisfation to see the guilt etch in the corners of his eyes everytime he looked at her, in every twist of his mouth, in the way he tried to atone his actions by spoiling her. She liked being the physical embodiment of his anguish. The reminder. _You left me. You left us, and look at what happened._

And there was the step-monster. Who wasn't, in all honesty, that bad. It was not a title she deserved. But Beca had labelled her, anyways, because she felt like the woman was partially responsible- despite the fact that she knew full well that she didn't even exist to her father when he'd left them. She knew this because she had asked him, out front, not long after he'd taken her back in. And she'd revelled in the way she could see his heart break, just a little. This was almost immediately followed by her wondering if that made her a bad person, before she decided that she didn't really care.  
Sheila had tried so hard to win her over. She had no children of her own- she was unable to- but it wasn't before long that the woman had resolved into knowing that she wasn't making it past Beca's walls. They were too high and too thick. Beca didn't _want_ her there. She didn't need any other mother figures. However, she accepted the gifts from the woman anyways, even though they were often without a real cause for them. Other than occasionally a note planted on top of a new, fancy set of headphones or jacket that said, _reminded me of you, kiddo._ And then there would be a God damn, sloppy smiley face. With the curved line of it's smile wavering as though it brought the woman a deep personal pain to scrawl it down. Not because she didn't like Beca- but because, she was sure the woman knew, it would never quite be enough.

So, no, Christmas was never _her_ holiday. She was by no means a Grinch- or at least she hoped not- but the season filled her with a heavy lying sheet of bitterness that she couldn't quite shrug off.

She'd relished the fact that, once she was in University, she was no longer necessarily required to be around her family for the holidays- especially once they moved into the Bella house. Not something she'd necessarily saw coming, either, but, it certainly had its perks. More and more of them, she found over the years.

But she dwelled in her own personal sob-story every time mid-November started to roll around, and the Bella's would soon be erupting in festive spirit. The first year moving into the sorority house, Beca had secretly hoped at least _one_ of them shared in a general dislike of the holiday- but that wasn't the case. When was it _ever?_ Not in Beca's lifetime. No, to her dismay, just about every single Bella was _too_ excited about Christmas.

Especially Chloe.

The girls, however, ever familiar with their captain now; had picked up on it that Beca was not _jolly_. And, no, she'd never put herself through the personal torture of rehearsing the whole dismal backstory like some kind of charity case, but, she assumed that the girls had also picked up a few hints here and there.

Especially Chloe.

Yet, thankfully, no one ever pressed her on it. They had a symbiotic relationship with Beca's lack of spirit, and, in return, she didn't protest that they went like, _all out_ about Christmas. Last year, Amy had bought half a dozen light up reindeer for the roof- and although only four now survived after some unknown- albeit most likely drunk- theif had made way with them in the night. But, that was beside the point. The _point_ was that the Bella house was absolutely decked out with lights, candy canes, reindeer, and a daily dose of carolling. Chloe had even made them all stockings to pin to the fire place.

She'd grown accustomed to it.

And while it was only late-November now, the house was not yet in it's truest Christmas form. Beca knew that that happened as soon as December first rolled around. However, that very same day also happened to be Jessica's birthday and so she also knew that, by nine pm, the majority of the Bella's were tipsy and celebrating- which lead to some questionable decor choices that would later be rearranged.

So, she'd had new Christmas'. And these ones were easier; it was a relief that no one fought- and if there was a squabble it was never anything serious and it was soon resolved- and no, good Lord, there was never uncomfortable silence. Beca was, privately, incredibly grateful about that.

But this year was different- and she could feel it, in the way that things had begun to hang in the air between words. The universal knowledge that this was the last Christmas that they would spend together in said Bella house. It was somber, to say the least. And it was especially so for her now that she'd finally severed romantic ties with Jesse because she sort of realized that she wasn't sure if she wanted to spend every Christmas for the rest of her life with him like that. Not that she wouldn't want to spend every Christmas with him- she'd be totally okay with that. But there was something between them that she had... _detached_ herself from. And she could only drag around the theoretical lifeless corpse of their relationship for so long before she felt totally crushed by it's weight and she thought about Christmas and what if she didn't deal with this now and she ran- she ran like Mitchell's do- and he would _devastated_ so.

She had something that resembled a panic attack and decided that Jesse and her were no longer a feasible romantic option. They were still on good terms, of course; despite four years being between them, the boy had taken the breakup with as much grace as one could.

She was thankful for that, too.

It was just another Christmas, that's all, and the kind of melancholy that visited her late on a Thursday evening while she watched the snow fall was disturbingly familiar.  
Running a hand along the length of her face, Beca tossed the covers from her body unceremoniously and sat up in her bed. Christmas did this to her. It kept her awake. Of course, Amy's uneven snoring on the opposite side of the room didn't help that situation- like, _at all_ \- but, usually, she could shut her mind off and tune out the sound enough to fall asleep. She's had a lot of time to practice. Tonight was not one of those nights.

Carefully, she rises from her bed and tiptoes to the banister, using the railing to guide her way down the staircase to where it emerged on the second floor. She then, almost robotically, followed the hallway to the next flight of stairs, using the same tactic to navigate herself downwards. She needed a glass of water. A change of scenery. Something.  
About half-way down the stairs, Beca pauses mid-step; a crease forming between her brow as a certain smell wafts past her. Ginger, she's pretty sure.

Puzzled, she continues her journey, checking the electric clock on the satellite as she passes- it's quarter to twelve. This was, on most occasions, a safe time to be up if you wanted some time alone. The scent wafting from the kitchen, however, informs her otherwise. And unless the ghost from the basement had relocated and started baking, humming, and shifting around in the kitchen, Beca was certain she knew who the culprit was.

The person that was, by some extensions, the reason she had concluded that now was the time to breakup with Jesse. The person whom she has also been actively avoiding alone time with.

Why?

Because Mitchell's are genetically programmed to run.

Beca stalls out there in the living room, the temptation of turning on heel and heading back to her room a little too appealing to her. Yet, there was a niggling in the back of her mind- in her, _what is it_ \- her damn _conscience_ \- telling her to stop running. If you run and hide things will be _ruined_. Exhaling shakily, she glances out the window; flakes of white falling in thick clumps against the darkness beyond, her reflection staring back at her; pained and exhausted. Maybe facing a fear now would help her with some peace of mind and she could get some sleep.

Chloe Beale? She was quintessential to Christmas spirit. An embodiment of _jolly-merry-every other positive Christmas feeling-_ all wrapped into a _downright giddy_ ginger bundle. It was endearing. Even moreso considering it wasn't very far off from her everyday attitude- if not just enhanced. Which is why Beca shouldn't be overly surprised when she turns into the kitchen to find her pressing shapes into a dough, making honest to God gingerbread men.  
The girl looks up, her hums cut short as her mouth falls open in a small giveaway of shock at meeting at this time of the evening. However, she closes it quickly and she offers Beca a small, polite, close-mouthed smile.

Chloe's no idiot. Beca knows that _she knows_ that she has been avoiding her for the last week.

"Hi," Beca hedges, her feet now unfortunately hindering her movement, leaving her rooted in the doorway.

Chloe lowers her gaze back to her work, pulling the uncooked body of a gingerbread man out of the dough and placing it against a baking sheet alongside several others, "What's up?"

A non-committal vowel sound leaves her before she can catch it. It's a simple question, but she knows that it could be interpreted with a deeper meaning; what _is_ up, Beca?

She can't answer that question.

So she shrugs, hoping that Chloe isn't hoping for any kind of real explanation. "Can't really sleep. Thought I'd come," She waves her hands around pointlessly, gesturing to the house, "wander."

Chloe has an innate ability to know things, without anyone saying anything. Beca had considered on more than one occasion if the girl was some kind of X-Men and could actually read minds. She doesn't miss the way those blue eyes glance over to her, her mouth pursing ever so slightly, something very soft and very sad glimmering under the surface. Beca knows that look well, and although it's only present for the most fleeting of moments, it presses on her and she nervously brings one hand up to the back of her neck and squeezes. Which is, she realises, probably a bad move on her part because _it's Chloe_ \- and that's a nervous tick- and of course the other girl would recognize it.

A moment of dread seeps through her and Beca quickly clears her throat- before the redhead can say anything- "Why are _you_ up?"

At that, Chloe sighs, dutifully pressing the mould into another form, "Same reason," She admits, which worries Beca slightly because it was unlikely for Chloe to let things bother her so much that she could be losing sleep. Not that the other girl explicitly said so much- but, Beca supposes, she has also picked up on a few things about Chloe, too. Although, it's not hard to miss when the girl's cheery attitude dissolves into something more distressed.

Finally finding the strength to move, Beca detaches herself from the doorframe and drifts over towards the island Chloe is working on, "Worlds?" She could only hope it would be something so concrete. Something so devoid of real emotion- other than perhaps stress. She had a feeling it wasn't, though.

Chloe clucks her tongue lightly, placing the gingerbread on the tray. Beca, taking a seat across from her- wincing at the sound the stool makes as it scrapes against the linoleum- watches as the other girl kneads the leftover dough into a ball with almost too much concentration.

"Well, it's not so much that," She starts slowly, worrying her bottom lip. Beca can practically see the cogs and gears working behind the other girl's skull, which doesn't do much to help her anxiety. It takes some strength not to press the other girl to just spit it out already, but she patiently waits as Chloe picks up the rolling pin before setting it down gently again, sighing with resign, "I'm kind of upset, I guess."

Beca's heart leaps into her throat. "About..?"

Chloe presses her lips together, picking the roller up again and beginning to absently flatten out the remainder of the dough. "Our last Christmas here."

Beca lets out a small puff of relief, allowing herself to hum in mutual understanding. It _was_ sad. But it was a much less complicated than the topic she feared was about to be breached. The reason for her hiding. The elephant that had been obnoxiously trumpetting at her for the last week of her waking life. The very thought of it made a warmth begin spreading to her ears- which she noticed immediately and she bit her tongue sharply in her mouth, praying to God that she could stop this blush before Chloe noticed.

"I'm upset, too," Beca grants gently- which is something, she realises, she has never said aloud. Chloe peeks at her from over her gingerbread, pressing the mould into the remainder of the dough to create one more cookie man. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you guys,"

Chloe's tongue darts out and licks her lips, as she places the last man on the tray and turns around to set it into the oven. Somewhere, a clock goes off, alerting them that it's now twelve am. Chloe straightens up, throwing Beca- with what feels like an uncharacteristic shift in mood- a mischievous little smirk. It sort of helps with the knot of worms in her gut, but Beca just can't look past the dramatic change in atmosphere. She narrows her eyes suspiciously at the redhead, who's smirk slowly pulls back into a grin, revealing teeth.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She questions, a hint of accusation behind her voice.

Chloe, turning full around now to face her properly, leans forward onto the counter space she had previously been working on, her voice lowered into a secretive hush, "It's December first,"

Chloe had this thing, Beca noticed, where she seems to enjoy announcing the first of the month whenever said month held some kind of holiday. Eyes still narrowed- mostly because Chloe's smile was only growing, and she was beginning to look a little bit manic. "Good observation," She responds dryly, after the silence stretched out a little too long for her liking.

The redhead leaned forward, "You know what we should do?" She purrs conspiratorially, which did nothing to alleviate Beca's suspicion.

"You should stop smiling like you're about to murder me," She countered earnestly, drawing a light chuckle from the girl across from her. Chloe relaxed a little, her fingers tapping against the counter- which was covered in flour, "And you should clean that counter,"

Beca reached forward, planning to run her finger through the material disapprovingly, but the other girl deftly swatted the appendage away. Letting out an indignant huff, Beca pulls her hand into her body and cradles it with exaggerated care, as though the woman had actually hurt her. Chloe was not buying it, and she scoffed, "I'll get to it. I'm not done here, yet,"

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows in question, "My bad, I had no idea you had more gingerbread to tend to,"

The redhead nods fervantly, "Oh yeah," She says, a sort of huskiness overcoming her voice that makes it sound like the two of them were discussing some kind of scandal, "You have no idea,"

"You're right," Beca responds, already feeling subdued with the conversation, "I do not," She assumed it was from the grogginess pulling at her bones, otherwise, she'd often always take the redhead up on some witty banter. Gingerbread men or not.

Chloe shrugs, "Anyway, I was going to say," She drawls out the last word, wagging her eyebrows and leaning into the counter again, "We should decorate,"

One of Beca's eyebrows hike higher towards her hairline incredulously, "What, without the other Bellas?"  
As response, Chloe just shrugs. Beca blows air out through her lips, "They'd kill us,"

"We don't have to put _all_ the decorations up," Chloe waves off her protest dismissively- knowing entirely too well that it was an excuse above everything else, "Just some lights. We'd be like, little elves, spreading good cheer for when the girls wake up in the morning,"

Beca feels a small laugh pull from her throat, "I don't need anymore reason to be called an elf, Chlo."

The older woman's smile pulls farther at the sides, and she chuckles too, "Come on, we can get some boxes from the basement while those cookies are in the oven,"

At this suggestion, Beca scoffs, causing Chloe to shoot her a pointed, reproving, although amused, glare. Beca raises her hands in her defense, "Keep trippin', crazy lady, if you think I'm going down there at this time of the night,"

Chloe's mouth fell open as if Beca had just told her to hit the highway, "So you're going to make me go down there by myself?"

She does her best to give Chloe a convincing "tough love" expression, even though she can feel the corners of her own mouth twitching at the expense of the other girls offense. She presses her lips into a thin line in attempt to smother it, "I'm not the one who wants to decorate," She points out, and then moves her hand to gesture lamely towards the oven, "I'll make sure those don't burn,"

The other girl lets out a discontent huff, crossing her arms over her chest and doing her best at what Beca can only assume must be a glare. But the twinkle of delight behind those blue eyes is sort of ruining the effect. "I don't think so," She protests, coming around the other side of the counter and grabbing Beca by the wrist. Letting out a cry of dissent, Beca just barely allows the redhead to pull her to her feet, "You're coming with me,"  
Groaning, she halfheartedly attempts to escape the girl's hold, but it's no use. She's trapped- and, to be honest, even if she was giving it her all she probably wouldn't be able to break free. She's _seen_ Chloe's arms- which were the result of years of vigorous workouts.

Chloe presses a scolding finger against her lips, shushing her. Miffed, Beca glowers at her but doesn't argue- she would feel genuinely sorry if she woke up any of the Bellas simply because she wanted to reprimand Chloe. So, she allows herself to be guided by the redhead and her firm grip until they stood in front of the basement door; only then she is released, and she rubs the spot sorely. Tentatively, the girl next to her reaches forward, turning the knob and opening the door- which creaks, only adding to it's spooky factor- and then she took a small step back. As though the door being opened revealed something ancient and required a minute to be fully awed, absorbed- which it was not, it was a musky smelling basement with a staircase that descended into darkness. Beca was pretty sure she heard some kind of rustling abruptly cease.

Lightly, Chloe placed a hand on Beca's shoulder- causing her to flinch away. Taken aback, Chloe blinks at her a few times, before lowering her eyes in a way that almost betrayed hurt. With a pang, she internally kicked herself for allowing that mechanism to reapper after so long- she hoped the situation with the looming door in front of them would be enough to convince the girl across from her that it was only that, and not the sudden, affectionate communication.

But Chloe was too smart for that. She should've known.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Beca gestures wordlessly towards the darkness, "After you,"

In the gloom, she hears the girl intake a small breath. "I was hoping you'd go first,"

A small, resentful squeak escapes her. " _Dude_ ,"

Thankfully, Chloe seems to concede to her single worded protest without argument. She sighs, long and heavy, before scooching in front of Beca so that she could get to the staircase, "Alright, alright," She mutters, "You're going to be right behind me, though, right?"

Beca nods diligently, "Yeah,"

Chloe nods along to herself, as well. Mentally prepping herself to face the darkness to the bottom of the staircase- because whoever the dick was that designed the Bella house had decided that the _bottom of the stairs_ was the right place for a light switch. The redhead takes a small step forward, before halting, and checking over her shoulder. "And no funny stuff?"

"Dude _, go,_ " She urges impatiently, "Your cookies,"

Chloe nods again, the reminder filling her with the courage to take the first step, "Right."

True to her word, Beca follows directly after her; alerting the woman that she was going to be grabbing onto the back of her shirt, just for good measure. "We get in, we get out," Chloe says, using the same voice she would before a Bellas performance pep-talk. Beca agrees, and as they reach the bottom of the stairs unharmed, and Chloe flicks on the light switch, the two of them let out a breath of relief.

"Awse," The redhead sounds a little breathless as she crosses the length of the basement towards the boxes labelled ' _Christmas'_. Beca follows her, scanning the room suspiciously for any sign of the rustling she was pretty sure she heard when they were on the top of the stairs. Nothing gave anything away, though. Which only somehow unsettled her further.

The girl lifted a box from the top of the pile and handed it to Beca wordlessly, before choosing one of her own and then making a beeline back towards the staircase.

"Chlo?" She asked, as the girl began ascending the steps with great speed. She paused momentarily, "Uh-huh?"

Beca turned a pointed look towards the switch on the wall, "Lights?"

Chloe stared at it for a long moment, before shaking her head, "Leave it."

Beca shrugged, not at all opposing the idea of going back up in the dark. So, she matched the redhead's speed in taking the stairs just about two steps at a time, before coming back out on the top and shutting the door firmly behind them- the light faintly spilling out from underneath.

"We're alive," She grinned sheepishly, to which Chloe laughed lightly. "Another successful basement trek," She mused, tip-toeing carefully past Stacie's bedroom.

In the kitchen, Chloe placed the box onto the floor and headed directly for the oven. Beca followed her lead with much less grace; allowing the box to somewhat slip out of her fingers with a grunt and land onto the floor with a dull thud. Chloe, giving her a quizzical look over her shoulder, then slipped on a pair of chicken oven mitts and pulled the tray out of the oven and placed it atop the stove to cool. Against her own accord, Beca felt herself begin to salivate as the smell drifted over to her, and she inhaled deeply. Chloe let out something of her own contented sigh, tossing the mitts onto the counter, "Not burnt,"

"Not even a little?" Beca prompted. Proudly, Chloe shook her head. "You wish, Ebenezer,"

"Hey!" She rebuked, scowling in such a way that it probably proved the girl's point right. "I don't _hate_ Christmas,"

Chloe is just grinning at her fondly, before licking her lips and shrugging in a way that was so God damn playful and innocent that it made Beca wish she had some kind of soft projectile nearby to toss at her head.

"Could've fooled me," She teased, turning around towards her cookies again so that she could begin removing them from the baking sheet with a spatula.

Beca has a hard time picking and choosing her fights. Maybe it was her constant scrappy, defensive attitude that made her feel like she ought to be fighting just about near everything- maybe not, maybe it was just her damn parents rubbing off on her, but she tried to hope it wasn't that. At least she _knew_ she was argumentive. The idea that she was more like her parents than originally thought always worked its way under her skin if she thought about it too much.

So she rolls her shoulders, and she lets this one go.

Because Chloe is just bugging her, that's all.

Because Chloe has managed to pick and pull at her walls brick by brick and then slip into her skin easier than Beca had prepared for. And now she lived there, practically. God knows how she made it there, but, a fact is a fact; Chloe Beale is like some kind of sunshine fungus stuck to her. She doesn't need to fight her. She was too far in already.

Sighing, Beca resigns and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the box she had so nimbly placed on the ground; pulling it open and leering inside. It was mostly lights, and Beca was pretty sure she could see some of the woolly fabric of Chloe's infamous home-made stockings. She reached in, fishing out the material and placing the many strands onto the floor- before getting to said fireplace decor. It wasn't all of them, she could tell, but she laid them all neatly atop of each other; Cynthia Rose, Lilly, Ashley, Flo, and Beca.

As she pulled her own from the box, she held it tightly in her fists, hearing for one fear-stricken second, the sound of blood rushing in her ears because this was _the last time_. And she'd never really noticed just how much effort Chloe had put into each individual one- in the way Beca's name was written in looping letters across the top- bright and silver and purple and gold, with cut-out DJ headphones glued over the "B", and two dozen hand-painted snowflakes and hearts embroidering the thing.

She swore in that moment that maybe, just _maybe,_ her heart _did_ grow three sizes.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Beca checked to make sure Chloe wasn't watching as she pulled the red thing to her chest in what could only be described as a hug, if one could hug a flimsy stocking, before just as quickly placing it on top of the others.

When her work with relocating the gingerbread men and then cleaning the counter was finished, Chloe joined her on the floor. At that point, Beca had already finished emptying the contents of the box and was testing the streams of lights, searching for any possible duds. So far, so good.

"You think Jesse will let us borrow his Christmas collection?" Chloe asks conversationally from her position across from her; hands fiddling with pulling some kind of garland from the depths of the box before her. Beca's blood runs cold, and she stiffens, one hand mid-air by the plug-in on the wall.

"Uh," Because she hadn't actually told anyone yet. Let alone Chloe. "I, uh- _yeah_ , probably,"

The girl smirks good-naturedly, "Even without him?"

She shrugs, "I mean, I don't really want to watch them either way, so," She finally snaps back into her own mind, having her hand reach forward to continue it's journey.

Chloe clucks her tongue, "Come on, Becs. _Home Alone? Christmas with the Cranks?_ " Her foot snakes in between the boxes to give her a nudge, " _The Grinch?_ "

" _Especially_ not _the Grinch_ ," She mutters, momentarily transported back to her childhood living room. Shaking her head, as though to clear the image from her conscience, making a pointed effort to look like she was inspecting a singular bulb on the strand that stopped working.

" _You're a mean one_ ," Chloe starts, her voice lowered coquettishly- using her toe to probe at Beca's leg persistently, " _Mr. Grinch,_ "

Irked, Beca swats it away with more force than she needs to, all but shoving herself away from the other girl as though she had been prodding at a bruise, "Knock it off," She snaps, glaring across the expanse between them. Chloe stops dead, clearly stunned by the outburst, as she retracts her foot slowly back into herself. And Beca immediately feels like a jerk, because it's _just Chloe_ , and she was only trying to cheer her up, if anything. It wasn't like she _knew_. And she see's the stocking, sitting there, like a reminder.

Because it's _just_ love.

It's not her fault that Beca has a hard time understanding that.

"Sorry," She murmurs, giving up on this strand of lights and unplugging it, tossing it somewhere to the side, away from all the other working ones.

Chloe, looking a little bit like a scolded puppy, just shakes her head, "It's okay, that was my bad,"

And there it was- not a big surprise in Beca's life- people were catering to her for her own outbursts. Taking the responsibility. When she was younger, she was glad that others would take the blame for her just being a straight up douche; whether it be cousins, or the few, fleeting middle school friends she had. Treated a little bit gentler because, you know, _her dad ran out on her and then her mom croaked._ As she aged, however, it just made her feel childish.

Closing her eyes, Beca waved away the apology vehemently, "No, no, don't," She spluttered lamely, "Don't... apologize. It's fine. You didn't do anything. I'm just being..." _A_ _temperamental baby? A downer? A bitch?_ "...weird."

Chloe nods slowly, sitting back on her hunches and unravelling the golden garland, she still wore a slightly hardened expression, likely because she wasn't sure how to proceed with the conversation.

Running her tongue along her bottom lip, Beca stiffly plugged in another cord, the silence beginning to stretch between them. One more successful, and then one more unsuccessful cord later, her attention was drawn back to the redhead across from her; when a soft jingling started in her direction. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Chloe pulled two Christmas themed hats from the box- alongside the garland and window stickers she'd found. A repressed smile is pulling at her lips as she inspects the two hats, but it breaks into a downright beam when she notices Beca staring at her.

"Humour me," Chloe says softly, extending one hand towards Beca. In said hand, a red and white Santa hat. Beca's first instinct is to tell Beale that she was not dreaming, nor drunk, so there was no way that hat was going on her head. However, because there is still an inkling of regret about her earlier outburst stirring in the workings of her mind, Beca takes the offering. Chloe, clearly touched by this, raises one hand to her mouth in an attempt to poorly hide her glee as Beca slips the hat unto her head without so much as a noise of objection. After the hat is securely on Beca's cranium, Chloe raises the other hand- one holding a reindeer antler headband adorned with bells- to her own head and slips it on without a word. Her smile looks like it's going to rip her cheeks open.

And then she's just staring at Beca, so absolutely _jazzed_ about the entire situation that it feels contagious, and it's not long before she breaks her own surly demeanour with a sheepish grin of her own.

"You look nice," She compliments the redhead, voice thick with laughter.

Absently, Chloe raises a hand to one of the phelt antlers; bells chiming softly, "Thank you. You're not so bad, yourself,"

Cockily, Beca gestures to herself, half-joking, "When do I _not_ look this good?"

The other girl pushes herself feet, heading back towards what Beca can only suspect is the gingerbread cookies. "I'd bet you'd look even better in the full suit," She says dreamily, "Gut and everything,"

Beca laughs, pushing the now empty box in front of her to the side and pouncing on Chloe's abandoned one, reaching in blindly and pulling some kind of phelt table cover out of it's depths. The girl continued to jingle as she moved around the counters, pulling open a drawer, "I don't know if Jesse would like it as much as I would, though,"

And maybe this is the right time. Because she can't actually see Chloe which would mean she wouldn't have to actually see the sympathy on her face as she said it.

"Actually, about that," She starts reluctantly, heart suddenly bumping against her ribs a bit harder as she struggles to remove the cloth and remain collected, "We sort of... broke up."

And then there's a silence- a greater, heavier one that surrounds them even more so than the blanket of snow outside, or the distant snoring of some Bella. As the jingling of her antlers stops and there ceases to exist any sounds of any drawers opening. Beca's not even sure if she's breathing. It was the kind of silence that was as dreadful as it was anticipatory.

"Oh?" The sound is quiet, heavy, "I'm sorry, I didn't know that-"

"Don't," Beca cuts her off again, diving back into the box mostly for something to do with her hands, "It's- like- it's cool. No hard feelings,"

She hears a telltale ringing, like the girl is nodding, "That's good,"

Beca nods, too, because it is. It _is_ good. She then pulls out a wreath, fingers skimming the cardboard bottom. "Yeah, I dunno, I just- I didn't think it was, you know, like, working,"

Chloe let's out a thoughtful hum, and Beca could only wonder what's actually going on in her head, how much is actually stirring and bobbing in there. It definitely was peculiar, a little bit _too_ coincidental given certain recent events. And Beca knew it would be a big fat lie to say that had nothing to do with it.

"So," The girl breaches slowly, "Are we going to talk about what happened?"

 _So who was reading who's mind?_

Her breath hitches in her throat- and her feet twitch, begging to run. It would be easier to snap another something at the redhead and then storm away. But Beca refused. Grab the bull by his horns, and such. She might be maimed and maybe even killed, but, it was all trial and error, wasn't it?

"Uh," She rubs a hand across her face, and then to the back of her neck, squeezing at it's base, trying _so hard_ to gather the millions of thoughts that were zipping around at near light speed behind her skull. "We... could?"

"We don't have to," Chloe assures her quickly, somewhere above her. Beca hoped she wasn't going to swim back into her line of sight anytime soon, because not being able to see her made things a little bit easier. The illusion that maybe this wasn't as real as she knew it was. Because, really, the reality was choking her.

"No, but," The elephant, blowing it's big trunk in her face, "We should,"

She hears the bells again, because Chloe is nodding, she knows that much without even looking at her. Because this is one of the many ways the two of them are opposites; where Beca likes to tuck tail and run, Chloe likes to resolve. No matter how painful it may be. Beca always admired that. And then she hears the voice, quiet, and just a little bit frightened, "We're still good, though, right?"

And that takes Beca off-centre, whether it be how scared Chloe sounds asking it, like there was _ever_ a possibility that things _couldn't_ be okay between them anymore. Like Chloe could _ever_ ruin anything between them.

No, there wasn't a chance. She was under Beca's skin, and she couldn't get out that easy.

"Are you crazy?" She pesters the girl light-heartedly, hoping it will ease some of her pain, "Of course we're good."

There's another pause, Beca takes the opportunity to sit back, glancing down at that stocking again.

"Really?"

Beca scoffs, "Obviously, Chlo,"

"I didn't..?" She still didn't sound entirely convinced, and it occurs to Beca that maybe the redhead was beating herself up about what had happened more than she was letting on. And, sure, maybe it was scary for Beca- like freefalling from an airplane without a parachute, scary- but part of it had thrilled her, it had filled her with something, a feeling she wasn't quite sure what to do with. And _that_ was the scariest part- when she had, metaphorically, landed _totally unharmed_. The only damage left was Jesse and that sputtering, undistinguishable sensation that had swelled and festered within her. But she hadn't really stopped for a second to think about how it may have affected Chloe. She'd just assumed the redhead was totally in control of herself, because that's who Chloe was- she was bold, unless it came to haunted basements, and she was confident. Both things in which Beca lacked.

"N-no, no," She stutters, this revelation kind of knocking her off her already skewed axis, "Not at all."

The best, most horrifying part, she had concluded a few days after it had initially happened, was how she didn't see it coming.

"Okay."

The two syllables aren't really sufficient enough for Beca. She sighs, ringing her hands together in her lap, staring at them with an intensity she didn't realize she was capable of, "Don't give yourself a hard time, Chlo," It was _hard._ "It's- it's, uhm, I don't know. It's just me. It's the way I am. I make things, difficult, and confusing, I'm sorry,"

She's a little bit too acutely aware at how those bells were an indicator at what Chloe was doing out of her sight, and how they were making no sound whatsoever. "I just, I don't know how to... uh, _be,_ I guess. If that makes sense. I don't know what to do with..." _feelings_ , "you know, uh, how- how to" _how to talk, clearly_ , "deal with things."

Or how to open up.

There were a lot of things Beca Mitchell wasn't good at.

"I just don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone. Don't feel bad, please, I'm sorry- I should've handled this better,"

Fucking Christmas.

In her periphery, she can see a blur of red hair, hear the jingle of the other girls antlers. Hastily, Beca dabs at the corners of her eyes, just to make sure they don't appear overly wet, or anything. Not that she was crying. She did feel a little bit red in the face, however.

As Chloe approaches, Beca forces herself to lock eyes with her- a flash of despair crashing through her when she immediately notices how glassy the other girl's appear, despite the fact that she is smiling in such a heartwarming way that it makes Beca's insides feel like they've melted into puddy. "Oh, God, Chlo, don't cry," She starts, and the girl laughs, shaking her head, "Sorry," She apologizes earnestly, "You've just got me feeling all soft,"

"It's, like," She raises her hands again, palms up and facing the other girl, worried that she was about to go in for a hug and Beca could _really not_ handle that right now, "Seriously fine, dude. No hard feelings here, either,"

"Good," The woman laughs, moving her hand towards Beca- offering her something, again. Baffled, Beca stares down at it for a long moment; a gingerbread man, that has been decorated with various icings of Bella colours. Which is when it dawns on her that that was what Chloe was doing over there, opening drawers and such. "Because you aren't hurting anyone, Becs,"

And while she isn't so sure about that, Beca lets out a breath of relief, tentatively reaching out to take the gingerbread gift in her hands. She allows herself a small smile, "Good," She echoes Chloe's response, "Because I don't want to,"

The girl's blue eyes gleam playfully, "I know," She whispers, "You already said that,"

Reaching out, she gives Chloe a slight knock on the shoulder, pulling a bout of giggles from the other girl as she recoils away. Beca shakes her head, staring down at the gingerbread in her hand and feeling her smile grow against her cheeks- only Chloe. Taking a bite out of the cookie, she purposefully ignores the intense look she can feel the girl giving her- most likely, Beca assumes, awaiting praise. And it _was_ great, Chloe was skilled in the art of baking, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

"C'mere, you!" Chloe squeals suddenly, all but lunging across the boxes and knocking into Beca in a rough hug that bowls the two of them over with a startled yelp. Flailing, Beca grabs ahold of Chloe on the way down- nearly crushing the gingerbread, in the process- and through the other girl's hysterics, she's pretty sure she hears her mumble something into Beca's shoulder about loving Christmas.

And if Christmas, Beca concedes, really meant moments like _this,_ she could maybe start getting used to it.


	2. Author's Note

**So for everyone who has followed this/ is interested in following this- I now have the beginning of another Bechloe story up that will eventually tie into this one-shot! Thank you for the encouragement 3 Please let me know your thoughts, critiques are welcome as well!**


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